Noxious
by CallMeComet
Summary: The changes taking place at Briarcliff are causing strange occurrences. Sounds in the night, missing patients, and the arrival of a bewitching new psychologist who starts controversy in every corner of the Asylum all drive questions to rise inside the mind of one Doctor Oliver Thredson. This place has an arcane way of making you second guess yourself. Thredson/OC
1. Insidious

Doctor Oliver Thredson hurried down the stairs after Sister Jude, trying his best to keep up with her. "Sister I insist that you take the time to listen to my request before my report shuts this whole place down!" She laughed sarcastically and held her hands behind her back as she descended the stairs in front of him. "Ha! Doctor, trust me, one complaint isn't going to do any damage. This is God's establishment. There is nothing that can bring this building down, not even a worldly psychologists opinion." She scoffed at him, and, as he was about to protest, he caught sight of a large, popcorn colored head of hair facing away from him at the bottom of the stairs. Sister Jude noticed too, and paused on the last step, looking at the stranger. From what Oliver could tell she was definitely _not _a patient. Legs that could go on forever shot out of a semi-short, angular dress with a bright stripe running across the hem. Yeah, definitely not a patient, though he did think her crazy for wearing anything closely related to fashionable in the sister's presence.

Sister Jude walked up to her with a stony expression, and addressed her, as Oliver watched from the stair. "Can I help you?" She asked without kindness, as the girl turned around tearing her eyes away from the white nun statue. Good God, what was she doing here?!

"Oh, hey! I'm Dawn Maston, from Texas University. I'm the temporary assistant psychologist here at Briarcliff." She reached out her hand, which the nun silently declined. Oliver landed at the bottom of the steps, and slowly approached the two. Assistant psychologist? Had Briarcliff ever had an assistant in any field?

"I don't remember hiring an assistant psychologist. You've got the wrong asylum, chicky, hit the road." She dismissed her coldly and began to walk off until Dawn stepped in front of her, the smile unwavering and brave among the woman's auhtoritative presence. "Well, that makes sense because you didn't hire me. Monsignor Howard did. He said I had a great reference and assigned me to Briarcliff for a two month assessment."

Sister Jude brought her head back slightly, and blinked, a shocked, blank smile on her face. "He hired you, _personally?" _She asked, as the blonde grinned, readjusting the briefcase and book in her arms. "Sure did. I move in today and thought I'd arrive early to get familiar with the building." The nun didn't listen, and looked down disgustingly at her bare legs and lower thighs. Just as she was about to comment on the woman's attire, the doctor split into the conversation, interrupting the nasty insult that was ready to spew from the woman's mouth. "Excuse me miss, I'm Dr. Oliver Thredson, the clinical psychiatrist of Briarcliff. I didn't help but notice you said that you were the new assistant psychologist here." He wasn't necessarily smooth with his introduction, but effectively caught her attention, and received the same award winning smile from her.

"That's me. I'm Dawn, it's nice to meet you Oliver." She shook his hand, and looked down at the skinny tie lining his chest, and then back up to his eyeglasses. "_How_ did you get the position here at Briarcliff?" He asked, standing slightly in front of the nun as if to cut her out of the conversation, which was his full intention. She smiled, seeing his tactic, and looked back into his eyes.

"I'm a recent graduate from Texas University, I have my degree in psychology and psychiatry, and the Vermont Mental Health Association offered me a position with the catch that I get some hands on experience first. My sociology teacher who was madly in love with me and also the Catholic Church pulled some strings and got me a position here at Briarcliff until Vermont feels satisfied with my performance and sends me up." Her voice was clear and low, showing no signs of intimidation or cheekiness. This woman was definitely not a kid, her semicircular hip jutted out of the dress as she leaned to one side, making unbroken eye contact with him. Classic psychology trick.

Oliver smirked, seeing the old crone fight to cut into the conversation once again. "You'll have to excuse Doctor Thredson. He's actually only part of _one _case here, which he should be getting back to work on. Don't you think?" She glared up at him, standing in between the psychologists as she snaked a hand onto Dawn's arm. Her tone was vicious as she spoke to him, and when she turned back to the younger woman he wanted nothing more than to strangle her with the rosary around her neck.

"Come with me, Miss Maston, I'll show you to your room and find you a modest piece of clothing to wear. God knows that'll reverse all the treatment we've worked on if a patient sees you" She turned away from her and gave one last shot at Dr. Thredson, before leading the girl away. And, purposefully or accidentally, she just happened to drop her briefcase in front of him, which he kneeled down and grabbed, placing it in her hands as she gave a half smile to him. "Thank you, Doctor." She silently dismissed him and followed the nun down the hall, turning her head slightly to catch one more look at him.

He thanked God that she wasn't a religious and primitive extremist like the workers at Briarcliff. He quietly hoped that her schooling had taught her some of the new age ideas that he had instead of the merciless and barbaric methods the asylum still clung to. But judging by the dress and smell of cigars on her, he opted for the first possibility.


	2. Baleful

The next time he saw her she was talking with a patient in the common area. The girl's name was Shelly, a clinically diagnosed nymphomaniac. He walked to a desk close to it, and sat down, placing the typewriter in front of him. He was meeting with Kit again today. Kit was just a boy, starting out life on his own, just married, and all of a sudden he was thrown into this mess of murders and trial. He recalled the alibi the boy clung to: men from outer space, how he was in here by some grave misunderstanding and that he had no way out. If he's not insane, he'll be executed. If he is, he'll rot in Briarcliff.

Without solid intention he overheard Shelly speaking to Dawn a few yards away from his desk when he was lighting a cigarette.

"I just don't get why people don't understand. What I'm doing isn't wrong! I have needs! I'm just doing something I want to do! And everyone thinks I'm crazy and puts me in some Goddamn nuthouse telling me I'm a sinner who's damned to hell!" This had obviously been their first meeting, as the girl was venting and rambling angrily. Dawn watched her, notepad in hand, fingers drumming on her bare knee which she'd pulled the white and grey uniform dress over.

Dawn looked up when she'd finished, adjusting herself in the wooden chair. Oliver was full-on listening now, paying attention to her reply. He wanted to see how she would respond; he wanted to know if she was _really_ a psychologist who could handle an actual patient.

"Shelly, here's one thing you need to know: nobody is crazy, they just have problems. And everyone deals with their problems differently. And yes, everyone has needs, yours is sex. You think about it, you dream about it, and you constantly want to have it. All of those actions are normal in people. You just do it more than usual." She spoke with an elegantly clear, even tone. The patient seemed to be taken back by her calmness and lack of condemnation, however, she recovered quickly.

"Damn right I do. I haven't done anything wrong but still the entire world thinks I'm some kind of whore." Her voice cracked slightly at the end of her sentence, and the woman gave a twitched half-smile in her direction. "You're not a whore, Shelly. The only reason you are in here is because society doesn't understand you, and it's my job to help you and society meet at common ground." She scribbled something quickly on her notepad and looked back up to the patient. "What, you mean like I'm going to have to stop having sex?" Dawn shook her head.

"No, not at all. Sex is a good thing, it's a completely natural section of life—" "Damn right it is. I'd rather die than become some dried up crone like Sister Jude." The psychologist let out a small laugh along with her patient, and she shook her head. "I'd have to agree with you on that. Have you even done a Triple Lindy? Oh God, my sophomore year of college I tried it and the orgasm almost knocked me unconscious." At this her patient laughed extremely loud, and the doctor looked down at his desk with wide eyes, inhaling sharply on his cigarette.

Dawn shook her head slowly, the smile fading on her face as she sat straight and looked at the girl, retaining professionalism. "Shelly, I'm going to start you on an anti-adrogen regimen. It'll help with your hypersexuality and lower your libido so you won't think about having sex all the time." The girl's grin faded, and she shook her head, concerned. "No, no, I can't take drugs. I won't take anything this place gives me! I'm not going to go crazy in here!" She spoke frantically, and the psychologist shook her head. "Shelly this won't hurt you, it won't give you any side effects and I promise you it's safe."

The young woman still seemed shaken and clutched at the side of her head, yanking on the hair. Dawn looked up from the desk and caught a glance at Oliver sitting there, looking over to them, before turning back to Shelly. "I tell you what; if you take the medication regularly we'll have our meetings outside from now on, okay?" She asked, leaning slightly over the desk, and watched the girl look up from her lap, eyebrows in an angry position that had softened slightly. "Really? No bullshit?" She asked, and the woman grinned. "Really. But only if you take them every day." She held her hand across the table, as the girl looked, and paused, before shooting out a hand and shaking it. "Deal."

Dawn held her smile, and leaned back in her chair. "Then we're done for the day. You're free to go." She put the notepad on the desk and watched Shelly give a halfhearted smile and walk off, rubbing her nose on her sweater sleeve as she exited the common area.

Doctor Thredson looked at her after the patient had left. She picked at her nails a bit and uncrossed her legs, crossing one leg under the other dangling one as she wrote an annotation of the meeting down on a notepad, tapping her foot to the French song playing in the room. He took this opportunity to stand and approach her desk until he was in front of it, his fingertips touching the edges of the old wood.

"Impressive work, Doctor Maston." He spoke, as she looked up from her work, smiling in recognition of his voice and eyeglasses. "Oh God, I'm not going to get used to that for a while. I'm barely a doctor." She said with a slight laugh, leaning back in her chair, cracking her knuckles as she did so. "You will. Soon you'll want everyone to call you that." She laughed again, and brushed a hand through the light curls around her shoulders. "Yeah, unless I'm just looking for a reason to get sued." Oliver smiled slightly, as she looked around the common area.

"Are you meeting with a patient?" She asked, gathering her things and placing them inside of the old briefcase beside her. He nodded. "Yes, his name is Kit. I got here early to start my report and he's not here yet." She closed the locks on the briefcase and sighed. "You've got your work cut out for you. He's been in Sister Jude's office more than an hour." She grabbed the handle and stood as the doctor stared at her quizzically. "How do you know that?"

She smiled and stood out from behind the desk. "How do you think I got my new dress?" She did a little twirl, and he smiled when she scoffed. "God this thing is itchy. A wool sock is probably softer." She tugged at the waistband, looking down at the uniform.

"How are you enjoying Briarcliff?" He asked, as she looked up at him, shrugging softly. "I don't know. It's enormous. I keep getting lost and God knows nobody would come looking for me." She stood in front of him, small, her light skin looking plushy and soft under the fluorescent lights. "And now I've got to find the therapy ward, and I have _no_ idea where it is."

Oliver almost immediately replied to her words with an offer. "I can show you where it is, considering my patient's late I have a few minutes of time to kill." She gazed at him, searching for some hidden intention, and after a few seconds of tearing silence, she gave a half smile, and stepped out of his way. "After you, _Doctor."_ She spoke, watching him walk ahead, and she joined him by his side.

The hallway was mostly empty, and Dawn's shoes clicked with the steps that she took. "How do _you _like Briarcliff?" She said after a long silence, pulling at the itchy waistband. Oliver looked over to her, and then at the walls. "It's a historical establishment praised for its work, but the methods are archaic. Electroconvulsive and neurosurgical therapies are still at practice and it's completely barbarous." He used his words sharply when he insulted the building. He couldn't think of a better lawsuit to file than a malpractice report against Briarcliff. It was falling apart and the only string holding it together was the excuse of "God's favor."

"Oh, goody. Maybe my sociology teacher wasn't so madly in love with me after all." She laughed slightly, looking at the empty halls where patients slept. Thredson smiled slightly at her, thinking of something else to say. "1964 isn't a popular year to pursue psychology, why are you practicing it?" She looked to him, her eyebrows elevated on her forehead. "You mean why did I choose it as a career?" her head turned forwards as they began to descend a staircase.

"Well I don't have an emotional baggage if that's what you mean. The whole 'tortured soul searching for salvation through servitude' thing isn't my forte. I actually had a pretty good upbringing. But I was growing up I noticed that the more pressure society puts on you to be a social paradigm, the less you're willing to accept you have problems, and therefore you don't deal with them. I guess I just wanted to be in a situation where I could make people feel comfortable about admitting they had issues and show how to effectively handle them. It's kind of poetic, actually."

She looked up at him under her eyelashes, smiling lowly. They turned a corner and Oliver continued to question her. "It is, in a sense. How many patients are you assisting?" He asked, looking down at her, his hands in his pockets. "Seven. All women, all age eighteen to thirty five, all deemed 'socially unacceptable'." "Why are you limited to that category?"

Dawn grinned at him. "So full of questions, Doctor! Monsignor Howard read my thesis on trauma and sexual strain in females. The day he assigned me to Briarcliff he appointed the seven patients because he thought I could effectively diagnose them and aid in their social re-acquaintance. Plus Sister Jude won't let me within a ten foot radius of a male patient." She chuckled, and Dr. Thredson looked over to her, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why is that?" He asked, arriving at the door of the therapy ward. "She thinks I'll reverse all the treatment she's worked so hard on if they are exposed to my…well, me. Besides I wouldn't listen to a male patient anyways." She reached for the handle, and Oliver asked one more question, his gaze confused as he fixated on her. "Why not?" God, he was being so obvious. He was interviewing her as if she were a fellow patient.

Dawn turned towards him, a sly smile on her face. "Because, Doctor, I've learned that I'll only listen to what a man has to say if he says it with his hands. Thanks for the tour." She grinned, walking through the door as it creaked closed slowly. Oliver Thredson stood there silently, watching the blurry silhouette of the woman walk down the hall through the window. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket before lighting it and walking back to the common area.

_That _was poetic.

Dawn walked farther down the hallway, listening to the eerie silence that permeated the walls. Suddenly an older man in a white coat turned the corner, and she gasped. "Oh my God!" She yelled, gripping her briefcase and holding her hand to her chest, gulping before she began to pant slightly. "You scared the shit out of me!" She spoke with a slight laugh. The man stared at her with cold eyes before speaking.

"Doctor Dawn Maston, I presume?" He spoke, uninterest evident in his tone. She recovered and nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's me, and you're Doctor Arden?" She asked, as he nodded quietly. "Oh, well, nice to meet you. I was wondering why you requested a psychologist in the therapy ward, Sister Jude asked me to come down her as soon as I could." The doctor turned and walked into a large room, where tables and shelves full of medicine were. A twenty something man laid on a bed in the center, his arms and legs restrained in leather buckles.

"Yes, she can be quite demanding. She's insisted that a psychologist be present when I conduct tests on my patients, for recording purposes." He turned away from her and she placed her briefcase down, slowly looking from the boy to him. "You mean you want me to help you conduct experiments? My degree doesn't include any practice in physical therapy." She nervously edged back when the boy looked over to her, his eyes red with tears.

"Well then I will require the bare minimum of you. Just record protocol, before and after behavior, and stay out of the way." He spoke, preparing a table of syringes and scalpels. Her stomach twisted in anxiety, and she realized that Doctor Arden wanted her here just about as much as she did. Obviously Sister Jude was reminding the asylum of her matriarchal position by keeping every worker on tabs. She didn't blame her, either. This Doctor was sickly arcane.

"_Well?" _He pushed, looking over in her direction as she fumbled for a notepad and paper, and cautiously approached the operating table, glancing at the boy's face every so often. "The patient has been sedated with a half-dose of oxycotin. His heart rate has slowed to 52 beats per minute." He recited, and she scribbled it down furiously, her mind vibrating with a dull hum. Her entire body was chattering in nervousness. She did _not _handle surgery well.

"I am beginning the lobotomy by sterilizing the orbitoclast in .3 M acetone…" Dawn's hands stopped working when she heard him say 'lobotomy.' They really still did neurosurgical lobotomies here?! That was sick! Hundreds of people died from tests like this! "Are you writing this down?" He asked angrily, and she dumbly slashed at her paper with messy words, her pencil sliding all around her fingers considering her hands had grown wet with clamminess.

"Please," Dawn eyes tore from her paper when she heard the patient speak. His voice was raspy, and she could see his tear-streaked face facing her under the forehead restraint. "Don't let him do this to me." He whimpered, and Dawn choked back the urge to boot it out of the ward when the boy pulled away from Doctor Arden as he held the orbitoclast in front of his left eye.

"I am now inserting the orbitoclast through the inner corner of the left eye." She closed her eyes tight and faced down, gripping her notepad with white knuckles, trying not to listen to the dull cries of the boy. The sound of mushy flesh rubbing up against the metal rod drove her mad, and she gritted her teeth as the patients resistance was dissolved into low groans. "The orbitoclast has punctured the borehole in the frontal lobe. This will ensure maximum ease in custodial care of the patient."

His voice was so sickeningly normal when he spoke, as if it were completely justifiable to stab someone in the eye and prod their brain. She wanted to shrink farther inside of herself when he tapped on the orbitoclast before swiftly removing it, the patient now mute and temporarily incapacitated. "The test is finished. The only side effects will be a light headache and a black eye." She looked up at him as he tossed the bloody orbitoclast on the table, removing his gloves, a low smile on his face.

She gulped, trying to speak with no avail. She was completely traumatized by his cool behavior regarding his actions. "I trust you will report this assessment to Sister Jude, Doctor." He hummed, his eyes drinking in the obvious discomfort littering her features. She slowly nodded, before walking over to her briefcase, stuffing the notepad in and clicking the locks shut. "Yessir." She faked a small smile, before walking to the door.

She gasped in fear when the patient grabbed her wrist, turning to her. "Don't leave me, don't leave me with him." He moaned, his movements zombified. She released his hand from her arm, and backed away, staring at him and then at the doctor, who made no effort to hide his smirk. When her back hit a shelf of beakers she heard the clang of them hitting each other and sprung out of the door, running down the hallway and back up to the main level, completely terrified of what she'd just witnessed and had done _nothing _about.

She prayed silently that one day she'd see Doctor Arden in a patient's uniform, because the thought of him holding authority at Briarcliff terrorized her. He was a sadist without any shadow of a doubt, and he knew it, too.

Without looking where she was going she ran right into two orderlies holding patient in restraints. "Oh, God, sorry!" She steadied her hand on the patient's shoulders, and looked at him, ignoring the uncouth curses that she received from the workers. This was the boy that everyone was talking about. The Bloody Face Murderer, Kit Walker. It then clicked in her head that this was Dr. Thredson's court-appointed patient. Moving out of the way she slowly ascended the stairs to Sister Jude's office, trying to calm the nervous tick that was her trembling hands.

Dawn was not part of a fun pre-career assessment anymore. She was not going to breeze through her time at Briarcliff by flirting with handsome psychiatrists and disregarding sassy nuns. She was going to have to _survive_. Otherwise she'd be trampled into the walls of the asylum like a bloody handprint. She quietly prayed she could see Doctor Thredson again, and regain some of the comfort she'd completely lost in the past thirty minutes with Arden. Just two months, just seven patients. She was a Doctor, now. She could handle this. She had to.


	3. Inveigling

Bitingly cold wind whipped around her face as she tried furiously to unlock her car, ignoring the leaves and twigs that hit her face and neck. Her hand shook in the cold lock, jimmying crazily when she looked around the dark woods surrounding Briarcliff. A sharp voice cut out of the air and Dawn jumped, shrieking as she spun around.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Doctor Maston." The pale bangs that hung out of Sister Mary Eunice's habit swung in the wind when she stood completely still behind Dawn. A slow smile crept on her face as she approached the car. "The radio says that trees are falling all over the roads and power's been cut for miles, you might want to consider staying the night."

Dawn looked at her, and, skeptically, raised a half smile, turning fully. "Oh, well, thanks! But I don't think that's a good idea. By the way, I don't think we've officially met, I'm—" "Tonight we are watching a film in the commons area in order to keep everyone at bay. If you like you can stay in the room you just emptied." She spoke slyly, her red lips curving all around her face. Dawn took a step back, utterly surprised.

Nobody had known, but Dawn called Monsignor Howard the night before and told him that she was not comfortable living at the asylum, to which he'd replied "Who would be?" She rented an apartment in town and moved all of her belongings there, much to the joy of Sister Jude, who had not lessened her dislike of the girl for the past two weeks she'd been working. But Mary Eunice was not associated with Dawn, at all, so how did she know?

"Um, I, I'll," She looked at the devilish stare the nun was giving her, and then hesitantly looked back to her car lock, pulling the key out. "I'll just follow you, then." She tried for a smile, and walked behind the nun, back up the main stair into the sanitarium, quietly trying to hide her body language that screamed "I do _not _want to be here."

The moment she entered the commons area she clung to the wall, dodging an orderly that cursed and swung his arms trying to restrain a patient. The entire room was a mess of inmates and workers who shouted and walked around seats aimlessly. "You know, I think I'll just go to bed." She winked to Sister Mary Eunice, turning before her white hand snaked around her arm, gripping it like a hot vice. "We're all supposed to stay in here." She spoke, her tone dangerous and low, as if she was speaking with a man's voice.

Dawn stepped back slightly, lips parted, and in slight shock, she back away and then turned, pacing as fast as she could away from the girl, down the aisle of folded chairs before picking one in the middle, sitting next to a patient she didn't know, scratching at the fabric of her dress and quietly praying that this would all be over soon; that she could drive home and sip on hot toddies until she passed the fuck out.

"Is this seat taken?" A brandy-smooth voice crawled out of the noisy room and Dawn was pulled from her anxieties, looking up into the eyeglasses of Doctor Thredson. The recognition warmed up her atmosphere, and she spread a grin across her lips, flashing her teeth at him. "No, actually. Care to watch a movie?" She regained some grace and leaned back a little, watching him smile slightly and then sit next to her. "Not really, but seeing as three counties are four feet underwater I'll settle for it." He said. Dawn watched the slight movements of his mouth before returning to his eyes, pushing her lips to one side of her face, nodding.

"Same here, but quite frankly, I'd rather swim home than stay here another night." She stared out at the crowd of unordered people before craning her neck slightly to see Sister Jude blowing her whistle harshly, hair falling out of her headpiece. Oliver took the moment to look over at Dawn. The curve of her pale neck shined in the light, revealing the shadow of her jawline and collarbone. The room was so quiet that he could hear her breath through her nose faintly, and he saw the movement of her throat when she did. The doctor was immediately brought back from his carnal senses when Jude marched through the aisle, slurring out a description of the film, before slowing down, eyes blank and voice low.

Oliver watched her walk, zombified, and thought back to his conversation with her in the kitchen where she, blank faced, accused him of giving her a faulty newspaper and then gave him a two-week ultimatum in order to cancel out her strange behavior. "All alone, she was, she was all alone." Dawn watched Jude with concerned eyes as the nun slowly walked past her, eyes wet with tears, mumbling shakily. The sister did _not _show weak emotion, and now she was so saturated in it that the entire room was in a state of heavy discomfort. Dawn looked to Oliver for a moment, and seeing him look back with the same confusion, slowly stood, walking towards the older woman.

"Sister Jude? Are you okay?" She asked quietly, eyebrows furrowed as she reached out to her. Jude suddenly snapped out of her trance and cupped a hand over her mouth, shock spreading over her when she locked eyes with the other blonde. A pause ensued and the sister regained herself, quietly straightening out her habit before ordering the showman to start the film and walking out of the room, leaving Dawn and the rest of the crowd in misperception.

She sat down dumbly and tried not to make eye contact with anyone. She instead spaced out, her eyes fixed on the screen, racking her brain for explanations to the wacky event that just happened. This whole night was a haze of utter confusion for her now. Minutes had passed and Dawn regained herself, sharpening her thoughts before looking around the room, trying to see where Sister Mary Eunice was. If she was quick she could get back to her room and call it a night. She took a double take and squinted, leaning forward slightly at a row of empty chairs. A hand on her back made her flinch slightly, and she turned to her left, looking into Thredson's eyes.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his thick eyebrows furrowing over his forehead. Dawn shook her head, leaning back and feeling the hand retreat before whispering. "Nothing! No nothing's wrong it's just," She looked back to the row of seats she'd been staring at. "Do you know where Kit and Grace went?" She leaned in, speaking so low that there was no tone in her voice. Oliver blinked, looking past her fluffy hair and then back at the projectorman.

Without a word he rose and walked towards the end of the room, and Dawn quietly stood as well, keeping her eyes on the nun in front of the room. "Excuse me, but have you noticed that _three _patients are missing?" The doctor whispered harshly to the orderly, who looked to the empty chairs and then cursed, running to the chair that Mary Eunice was in. Dawn saw him move and quickly backed out of the room, ignoring Oliver's questioning look.

She skipped quickly down the hall, hopping up the steps as quietly as she could before reaching the room to her door. A sudden feeling pulsed through her abdomen and she groaned, looking down the hall. She slowly let go of the doorknob to her quarters and fastwalked down the corridor towards the bathroom. Her steps came to a halt as she heard a guttural sound echo around her. Regret flooded through her mind and her arms tightened as the sweat glands all over her body opened. _What was that? _Her heart skipped wildly as she sprinted towards the bathrooms, running inside and slamming the door shut. If Kit and Grace snuck out, who else could have?

She panted, slowing her heart and trying to calm down when she walked to the mirrors. God, this place was scaring the professional out of her. Since her day working with Doctor Arden she'd built up a slightly tougher skin to the methodology of the asylum's "behavior adjustments," but she still couldn't face the operating table, and instead took to awkwardly standing on the other side of the room, documenting his work.

Eight patients since then. Every one of them begged and cried and said words like "going back" or "again" in between their hollow tears. Arden was a creature of habit, well, more of a dog that kept going back to its weakened and half-dead prey to play with it.

It was safe to say that there was bad blood at Briarcliff. Dawn caught the smell of it her first week, seeing how eager Sister Jude became when Dawn spoke of Arden's work down in the therapy ward. She took every session she had with Dawn to remind her of how untrustworthy and Godless Arden was, and ordered her to add more and more detail per session. Sister Jude seemed to take her own spin on Christianity. She wasn't the loving, cross-shaped cookie baking homeschool mother Dawn thought of when she heard the word 'nun.' Jude was extremely harsh, and spared no time making things easier to hear. She was crisp and cold, and _more_ than willing to execute corporal punishment.

Once she'd ordered Dawn to watch her "shape behavior," as in standing in the room while she whipped a patient, all in order to teach her what Briarcliff based its work on. This of course was just a fancy way of saying Dawn had to witness every ugly aspect of the establishment before the sister would give her a satisfactory report to the monsignor. She was being tested, in every single way. She'd been given a caged range of patients to help, a disturbing doctor to assist, and, courtesy of the cynical nun, rumors had already spread among the orderlies about her, and judging by the way she acted, Sister Mary Eunice was probably a devout believer of them.

There were only three things that comforted her in her time at Briarcliff. One was the promise that when her two months were over she'd be Vermont bound (and when that time came she was booting it). The second was the patients. Of course there were very obvious social threats registered there: rapists, serial killers, cannibals. But she'd learned so much about other inmates, people that, if given the chance, could operate in society without doing any damage. Like Grace, a young French girl who kept a cool head in every meeting between them. Or Lana, who very passionately insisted she had nothing wrong with her. Of course, the electroshock burns and paranoid twitch swayed her otherwise, but honestly, you could sneeze and the orderlies would tie you down in an instant.

And the third, she quietly refused to admit, was Doctor Oliver Thredson. God, how could she not notice that man?! She was one of the sixty two women in her psychology field in Texas and she'd _never_ met a guy who worked in the same profession as her, even though women themselves weren't very dense in the working world.

Sometimes her meetings with patients and his with Kit were at the same time in the common room, and she'd listen in on him talking. His voice was low, smooth and extremely professional. The tone he used with Kit was calm and comfortable, and she'd yet to hear him stutter. Men like that didn't even exist before him, and they definitely did not exist in Austin. Of course, she'd never really taken specific interest in smart, proficient men, considering she was just out of college and had been restrained to the muscly ball players range for a while, but this was new, and fresh and interesting. It was like she'd tried her first sip of bourbon and now all she wanted was to get drunk off of it.

She closed her eyes, breaking eye contact with the mirror, and exhaled a slow, hot breath down into her dress. Her raw thoughts aroused a heat to grow in her lower thighs, and slowly spread upward. Dawn kept her breathing slow and closed her eyes, succumbing to the feelings that swelled inside her head. Her hands rested on the sink and then tightened, gripping the sides of it. She hadn't done this in months.

Large, imaginary hands wrapped around the back of her waist and encircled it, one snaking around her and the other moving down her stomach. She leaned her head back and breathed, inhaling the smell of Old Spice and laundry starch. Her neck was wet in his mouth and she clawed at the sink, feeling the cotton of her frumpy uniform press into her skin from under his hand. Her lips parted and she shakily gave in, arching her back when he gripped her tight between the hem of her dress.

"Dawn." Oliver's voice rung through the room and Dawn sprung back, staring wide eyed in the mirror, seeing her reflection and only hers. She drew heaved breaths. His voice was so real, like he was actually behind her. She craned her neck and looked around, paranoia seeping in. Slowly she looked back at her reflection, and, steadying herself, she fixed her hair, tugging at the saggy waistband again before walking to the door.

It was sanctioned that Dawn had an interest in the Doctor. And in her time at Briarcliff where everything was a mess of secrets and malpractice, she found it wise to cling to what she knew, what she liked. And she _loved _the smell of Old Spice and laundry starch.


	4. Venereal

Oliver stood there, watching in horror as Shelly cried loudly, her stringy hair falling all over her face. Dawn was in front of her, clutching her briefcase for dear life as she watched the girl wretch and scream, tears and snot pouring out of her face. She was sitting in a wheelchair, wearing the patient's uniform that hung lifelessly past her knees. Her hands were gripped tight on the wheels and she spoke between cries in an unreadable tongue, making out short words like "he" and "do this" and "why."

The morning light spread through the room and lit every movement that Shelly made and that Dawn did not. She kept quiet, and breathed through her nose, assessing the girl and her condition. Oliver clenched his teeth when she looked over to him, locking her eyes onto his. Her expression was also unreadable, and he blinked, watching her place the briefcase on her desk, and then kneel next to her. Her cries continued, but lessened when Dawn spoke gently to her, her voice low and soft. A few moments later Shelly nodded, lessening her cries to gasps and groans. Dawn then stood and walked behind Shelly, grabbing the handles of her chair and wheeling her out of the common room, ignoring the stares that they received from everyone, including Oliver.

It was the first time he'd seen Shelly since two nights ago when she went missing during the film. Some of the orderlies said she'd fallen in the woods and the damage was too bad to fix. Sister Jude mumbled that it was God's will when she'd first seen her, that "whores would be reduced to nothing," literally. He looked out of the common room window and saw them outside. Shelly was heaving again, shaking her head and clutching her hair.

Dawn remained still, standing in the sun and holding Shelly's shoulder in her hand. He watched as she clutched onto her body in a hug, and wiggled a little when Shelly shook violently in her arms. Dawn's eyes were closed, and, in a slow motion, she opened them and looked up at the window, catching Doctor Thredson's gaze. He immediately leaned away from the glass, lighting a cigarette and nursing it feverishly, instead staring out at the common room that had gone back to normal. The sight of Kit being led in by two orderlies brought him away from his thoughts and he laid out another cigarette for him.

At two o'clock Doctor Thredson walked out of the main hall to his car for a lunch trip. He lit another cigarette in his mouth and was cut off by the sound of his name. "Oliver!" He turned and saw Dawn pacing towards him, her eyes scanning the hall for any other signs of life. When she reached him her eyes met his. There was a concentrated look in her gaze when she addressed him. "Come with me, I have something to show you." She spoke lowly, curling a small pink hand around the inside of his arm and pulling it.

"Wait, what? What are you talking about?" He asked, slightly following the pull of her hand as she led him to the flight of stairs leading towards the lower wards. She stopped suddenly and turned to him, and he tried to halt himself but bumped into her anyways. Her face was close to his, and she slowly raised her face, lips parted. "Shelly told me she never made it to the woods. She never escaped, whatever happened to her happened here." She spoke lowly, her breath radiating heat onto Oliver's chin. He furrowed his eyebrows and leaned his head back a little.

"What do you mean?" He asked, watching her eyes move all over his face. She stared at her reflection in his eyeglasses, and inhaled. "Oliver, if you just trust me on this, I promise you you can shut this place down." She said, boring her gaze into his face. They stood there in silence for a moment, hiding there in the stairwell as orderlies and nuns walked past. He glanced down at her mouth, and, fighting the resistance in his neck muscles, nodded slightly.

She took his notion and grabbed onto his wrist, rushing down the stairs and rounding corners until they reached the entrance for the therapy ward. "Dawn wait, we aren't permitted to go down here unauthorized." He spoke, pulling back against her hand. She turned to him and then back to the door. "Don't worry! Sister Jude told me that Arden's not permitted in the ward unless I'm there to document him. No one's in here." She said, pushing the door open with a loud squeak, watching him.

"Come on." She said with a slight smirk, twitching her head in the direction of the ward. With slow steps Oliver followed her and looked around the corridor, keeping pace with Dawn as she looked in all of the rooms. "What did Shelly say happened to her?" She didn't turn to him and instead spoke while she peeked inside of the rooms. "I'm afraid that's strictly doctor-patient confidential." She joked, looking back to him with a half-smile before speaking again. "She said that Arden did it to her. She told me that during the storm she tried to escape and he kidnapped her."

She peeked inside of Arden's office and looked around, peeking in his desk and bookshelf. Oliver shook his head fast, gripping the bridge of his nose before speaking. "Wait, of course Arden had to have done it. He's the chief surgeon and doctor here. I can't file a report based on that, that won't be enough to shut Briarcliff down." He protested as Dawn opened a book and watched camera pictures fall out. "Shit." She said, dropping to the floor and picking them up.

Oliver walked to where she was and saw her rise, her eyes wide in terror. "Oh my God." She whispered tonelessly, pinching the photos in her fingers. Oliver appeared next to her, looking at photos. Some were of women, tied up and dressed like nuns. She stared at another that was a picture of a headless torso and hitched her breath. He picked it out of her hand and inspected it, recognizing the signature. This looked like a Bloody Face victim. Dawn's gasping breath made him drop the photo and look to her, watching her face freeze in an ugly position. He looked at the picture in her hand and stopped moving. There, in black and white, was a picture of a pale, dismembered leg lying on a metal table.

"How much do you bet this is hers?" She whispered, fighting to look away from the picture and up at him. He nodded silently, his mind whirling with possibilities and arguments. She placed the book back on the shelf and grabbed his arm. "This is it, Oliver! This is what we need!" She said, rustling out of the office and back into the corridor, heading for the staircase. "Wait, what do you mean? How's this going to do anything?" He asked, following her as she clicked down the hall. "Don't you see?! This is going to be the one thing you need! Arden's not even qualified to perform surgery at Briarcliff! He's been out of the army for decades! On top of the fact that he's giving Goddamn lobotomies and hydrotherapy to patients this will destroy his license and—"

The sickening sound of footsteps echoing in the hall stopped Dawn midsentence, and she looked to Oliver eyes wide with fear. Without a word she shoved him into a shadow, pushing her body tight against his. He groaned inwardly at the feeling of her knee pressing into his groin and tried to stay silent as she peeked out from behind the corner. "Shit! Arden's not supposed to be here! He doesn't have a session until seven o'clock!" She whispered harshly, clutching the sides of Oliver's jacket.

He didn't know about her, but he was fucking terrified. Oliver never did anything wrong. He was polite, he followed rules, and he never got into trouble. Since he was adopted he made sure to please his foster parents and do everything right. He didn't cheat on a single test in college and made every report honest. So why all of a sudden was he trespassing? Before he could make a metal trail he heard Arden stop walking.

Dawn breathed through her nose, watching Arden slowly move around on the other side of the corner, her eyebrows furrowed. He watched her chest rise and fall against him, bright red with adrenaline-induced bloodflow. She didn't even seem scared that she'd get in trouble, or fired or arrested. He tried to focus on the situation but kept getting distracted by the hair that fell over her shoulder. It smelled like cigars and-

"Do you trust me?" She whispered, eyes strong and passionate. Oliver was brought back into reality when she looked up at him. The cigarette hung low in his mouth as he gazed at her, nerves piling on top of each other as Arden's footsteps grew closer. Out of instinct and fear he dumbly nodded, and she acted fast, yanking the cigarette out of his mouth and clashing her lips onto his, grabbing a handful of hair and putting his hand on the back of her hip. She rubbed her pelvis right up against him and stroked her hand over the top of his pants. He almost forgot the impending danger on the other side of the hall before it noticed them.

Doctor Arden cleared his throat and Dawn jumped away from Oliver, wiping her mouth with two fingers, smiling widely and sheepishly. "Doctor Arden! Oh, oh my God, I didn't know you were down here!" She laughed nervously, fixing the button on the top of her shirt. Had he done that?

The older man eyed the two, his utter disgust making no effort to hide itself. She ran a hand through her hair and looked at him. "What are you doing down here?" She asked, tugging at the waistband of her dress. "If I wanted to know I would have asked you the same thing." He snarled, gripping a tin bucket in his fist.

Dawn gave an arcane look to Oliver, and then looked back to the doctor. "Um, we won't tell if you won't." She shrugged, acting as if she was panicky. Arden took another look over to Oliver and frowned, walking down towards his office without another word.

Once he was out of ear shot Dawn exhaled heavily, laughing slightly as she bent over. Oliver let out a slight exhale-ish laugh too, and watched her walk back over to him, pulling the black and white photo out of the top of his pants. "Told you you can shut this place down." She grinned, breathing as if she'd held her breath for five minutes. He smiled slightly, looking her in the eye, exhaling heavily as well. "I guess now's a good time to ask you out for a drink." He said, to which she replied with a wide grin and a laugh. "Hell yeah it is! Come on, we've got to call Monsignor Howard." She spoke, grabbing a hold of his cuff and leading him out of the therapy ward.

Oliver was almost too relieved to remember the picture he'd seen in Arden's office, the one of the headless body, the one that he'd dropped and had forgotten to pick up, the one that lay so shamelessly on the carpet when Arden had walked inside of the room.

"No, no, what I'm saying is that she was unnecessarily operated on." Dawn ran a hand through her hair for the umpteenth time, holding the phone next to her ear, leaning against the wall in the basement's kitchen. Oliver sat on the counter across from her, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He loosened the tie around his neck as she argued with the Monsignor, stating her case. "Yes, yes we were there! He's got to have twenty photos of skinless bodies and bound up ladies." She shook her hand, eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"But Monsignor," She was cut off by the muffled sound of Howard's voice condescending her on the other line. She dropped her hand to the side and nodded, her eyes low to the ground. "Yes, yes I know. Sorry. Thank you." She said quietly, placing the phone back on the dock before craning her neck up and groaning loudly.

"Well, that was a bust. He says it was a misunderstanding and that Arden's just _different_" She mocked, turning back to the counter, walking over with a slight limp before leaning slightly and taking off her shoe. Oliver looked to her and leaned back slightly, watching her raise her eyes to him. "What?" She asked, a quizzical expression lining her eyes. With a slight smirk the doctor turned his torso and picked up a carved glass bottle, holding it in front of her. "How about a drink?" He asked, shaking it slightly.

Her face went from defeated to humored, and she laughed slightly. "What's that?" She asked, watching him walked over to a table where short glasses sat, opening the cap and smelling it before retracting his face. "Oh God, I don't know." He said, pouring it into two glasses as she walked over to him, picking one up. With a quick sniff she stared at it wide eyed. "This is moonshine!"

She grinned and took a sip, shutting her eyes tight. "That's good moonshine, too." She squeaked out, sitting down in the wooden chair. "You know that from smelling it?" He asked, taking a hesitant, painful sip. "One of the benefits of growing up Southern." She winked, leaning back in her chair across form him, propping two tiny feet up on the end of the table, her dress sliding back to show her knees and garter slightly. He smirked and swished his sugary drink around, running a hand through his hair.

"I bet you could get anyone to talk if you included this in your sessions." He contemplated, staring into the glass while Dawn laughed shortly. "I don't think you'd like what they'd tell you. This stuff'll make you do anything. It's worse than the Behavior Shaping Effect." Thredson let out a loud laugh, drinking another gulp of the illegal substance. "You really believe that crock? That's just a magic trick." He chuckled, and she grinned, relishing his instant easiness in reaction to the drink.

"Is not! That stuff tells you a lot about a person." She spoke pointedly with feign seriousness, pointing her chin down with a sly smile. He shook his head and fumbled in his pants for a cigarette. "It's ridiculous. It's like the theory that you can guess what kind of personality a woman has by the color of her lingerie." He scoffed, and Dawn's lips curved, her interest peaked and boldness lifted by the help of the glass in her hand.

"Really? Prove it. What color underwear do you think I'm wearing?" She asked, placing her elbow on the table, watching him closely. Oliver's buzzing thoughts acted too fast for him, and before his rationality could bring him down to earth he pictured her, sitting there, wearing nothing but her lipstick. It definitely wasn't hard, the lines that protruded through her dress were an easy outline that laid out a canvas for his eyes to paint on. After a quiet pause Oliver locked eyes with her, simply saying one word before taking a long swig from his glass.

"Green."

Dawn shock at his bold statement made her jaw drop, and after watching him for several seconds she laughed, her surprise evident and obviously entertained. "That's a bold statement, Doctor! I never took you for a man who liked green." He raised his eyebrows. "I was assessing _you_." She shook her head, a steady grin on her face. "That theory's meant to judge men's preference in women. Green's the daring girl." She bit her lip to keep from smiling as she watched Doctor Thredson hold his tongue, lighting his cigarette and inhaling sharply on it.

"Smoke?" He asked, desperate to progress in the conversation. She caught his tactic and smirked, shaking her head. "I don't smoke." She said, fingering the rim of her glass. Oliver looked down to the old ashtray on the table, tapping his stick on it. "It's 1964, who doesn't smoke? You act like it'll kill you." Dawn smiled slightly and down her glass, pouring more from the bottle. "Well I _smoke, _but not cigarettes. Cigars. Nicaraguan to be exact." _I_ _knew it. _

A long pause ensued, and, building up the courage with a large gulp of mash, he spoke. "Why did you do this today? Why did you go looking for evidence? You seemed pretty complacent here until this morning." He said, tapping the cigarette again. She paused, looking down into the glass, a more sober hue in her eyes. Dawn bit the inside of her lip and placed the glass down, sighing through her nose.

"Because being here takes away so much of you. If there was any hope for Shelly to move on after she got out of Briarcliff it's probably gone. She's had two years of her life taken away from her and now she'll never be able to walk. I didn't want to endorse a place that would literally handicap the same people it claimed to be helping. It's sick."

Her hands clutched the glass and she flattened her mouth into a minus sign. Before Oliver could reply the sound of clumsy footsteps protruded through the kitchen and Sister Jude stumbled in, catching sight of the two. "Ah, so the lovebirds dine at night." She slurred. Dawn knew that Jude had been getting drunk for the past three nights. When she had a meeting she kept a large bottle of communion wine in her cane closet and nursed it when she was alone.

"I see you've broken into the mash." She said, tripping up to the table and grabbing the bottle before placing it back in the cabinet. When she turned around she faked a smile and smoothed out her dress. "Well we don't need you twenty four seven! You're done for the night." She made a shooing reference and walked to the icebox, retrieving milk and eggs and placing them on the counter.

With a quiet goodbye Dawn and Oliver left the basement, walking up to the main level and out into the cold night, bidding their goodbyes to one another before driving home and sleeping in their cold beds, alone, quietly regretting they hadn't drank just a little more and offered an invitation to share a mattress.


	5. Beastializing

The glass of bourbon in his hand swirled around violently, whirlpooling in the center. _What am I doing?! _He asked himself as he bore his eyes into his desk. The last two hours he'd spent in his home office crawled by slowly, swollen with the overuse of the same ideas that he was contemplating. In the past three days catastrophe had inched its way into the corners of Briarcliff and now he was being suffocated in it.

A new patient who claimed to be a holocaust survivor had been admitted, and had attacked Doctor Arden in the common room. Arden himself was being investigated by state detectives who'd heard rumor he was a war criminal. Shelly had been "removed" from the sanitarium and "transferred to a place where she would be better cared for," though chances were more likely that she'd died in a rogue experiment. He recalled how Dawn furiously ranted in his office for an hour about it, her hair matted from having her hands in it. Grace and Kit were in solitary for forty-eight hours without food and had no meetings or breaks in between. And Lana,

Oliver took a hearty gulp of the alcohol, saturating his thoughts in it in order to numb them. Lana…He tried to help her, he knew he wanted to help her the day she'd met him. He fingered the space bar on his typewriter, biting his lip. All the techniques he'd heard of and learned weren't working on her. He'd humiliated Lana and himself by trying to cure her with Aversion-Conversion, and now his resolve was whittled down to a desperate action.

The liquor wasn't strong enough to make him forget what he'd said to her that morning, what he'd promised her. Oliver didn't make promises to people, especially crazies. _No. _Lana wasn't insane. She was right; she was put in there without reason. And he was going to get her out, on Friday he was going to leave and take her with him. He could find her a place to stay and then he could get her back to her apartment, help her remember everything that had happened there. Maybe _she _would be the one to shut Briarcliff down.

The nervous shake in his knee reminded him of how dangerous that was. _Dammit, Dawn. _It was all her fault. He never did anything illegal and now he was going to help an asylum inmate escape right after getting caught in a restricted area with his pants down. He tapped the spacebar key, hearing the 'ding' of the machine and watching the paper move to the left slightly. What had made him so unlawful? What gave him the idea that this was right in any sense? A file on his desk sat innocently, reading in big, black, stamped letters: **BRIARCLIFF**.

He took one look at it and sighed, tapping an almost-finished cigarette on an ashtray. It _was _Briarcliff. It was this place. Before the court appointed him there he'd worked seven other sanitariums. All of his patients had thorough reports that were detailed and perfect. But now, ever since he'd walked in and witnessed the sadistic treatment, he'd slipped into a compromising situation in which his resolve was wearing thin; with Kit, with Lana, with Dawn…

He knocked the glass back, inhaling the liquid until his cup was empty. _Dawn_. God, Dawn. He could not call her a woman, for every woman he'd met before was nothing like her. Her attitude, her personality, her way of working and her shameless behavior drove him to think she wasn't even human. People like her weren't real! No author he'd ever read could come up with a character like Dawn Maston, or a diagnosis on why she was the way she was. The manner in which she moved and talked and did things to him; the way she touched Oliver and boldly spoke to him without considering the repercussions, it made him furious. Did she not know the effect she had?!

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling, puffing out rings of smoke that levitated in the air. He wasn't mad at Dawn. He was furious with her, and even more so with himself. How could she bewitch him like she did? What made her so arousing to his mind and body? He'd studied the female mind down to a science, it was as if nothing could affect him, but now the very sight of her made him second guess himself.

It had to be this place, it had to be Briarcliff. No matter how alluring Dawn was she wasn't manipulative. She had no negative intention for the patients, or for him. Something about Briarcliff was different: an eerie infection spread all over it and contaminated anyone who walked inside. He felt a slight sense of relief that he'd be gone soon. Maybe life would go back to normal, and he wouldn't look behind his shoulder every two minutes thinking he was being caught sneaking around. God knows Sister Jude would have a field day cane-raping him if he were to be admitted as a patient. But Dawn, on the other hand, he probably wouldn't mind that…

Oliver sat straight in his seat, eyebrows furrowed. _What am I thinking?!_ Since when did he fantasize about being whipped and caned?! He drew the line at watching her undress in a therapy room, but this? God, he was going mad!

He stood up, cracking the muscles in his lower back, and walked to his bathroom, slapping on some shaving cream. Just six more days. It'll all be over in six more days. If Briarcliff was going to collapse he was _not _going to be there in the rubble. He hoped that Lana would be there with him. He hoped that Dawn would be able to watch it crumble down on top of its lies and secrets.


End file.
